


Moonlight lovers

by Lauredessine



Series: Let's be Danes: Drabbles collection [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Historical References, I WISH WE HAD MORE!!!!!!, In Public, Light Angst, Smut, and also those two make me WEEP!!!!!!!!, at uni, because i am THIS girl!, hey i included some reference to sagas and harald fairhair, in which they ended up being horny and compelled me into writing some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 03:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16865035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauredessine/pseuds/Lauredessine
Summary: Erik cannot sleep and goes to Aethelflaed's cell. Or at least, that's what he says....





	Moonlight lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CeridwenofWales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/gifts).



 

 

 

 

> **_"I can’t sleep. Can I stay here?"_ **

 

 

 

 

Erik stood, basked in the dim moonlight of her stifling cell. Her pale complexion lit by merely the night granted her the allure of an enchantress, an elf even, such as there was back home, as her hair rippled on her narrow bed from which she awoke in haste, fearful of any rape or abuse. The last time, she managed with a stool and a night bucket to repel the men who tried their way with her and was saved only by Erik’s coming and rampaging. Her fear dwindled as she recognized his tall figure in the dark, a mighty tower of muscles and wit, cunning enough not to let the door ajar, wise enough to know the value of secrecy.

“I can’t sleep.” his deep voice echoed softly into the room. “Can I stay here?” he took his breath, awed at the way she moved. She was a princess. Every twitches of hers were proof of it.

She frowned. “Do you wish me to sleep on the ground?” her voice was hoarse and soft. Erik shivered.

“For fair lady, dirt is no fair bed.” he said and felt his heart flutter as she smiled. He was too much of a scald not to flatter her. “I will sleep on the ground. It is nothing I can’t take.”

He was about to set himself down her bed, sleeping below her grace when she clasped his hand. “Erik.” she whispered bashfully. “I can make space.”

He choked on his breath but tried to give it the ring of a satisfied groan. “You are a lady.” his words meant hesitation.

“You are my captor. You could do whatever you please. You could have your way with me. Why so hesitant?” her words reeked of bitterness. She tested the limits of his will.

“You are precious. I cannot.”

“Your men had less concern than you. So precious I am, it does not prevent my husband’s hand to land on my cheek.” She smiled a faint one. “Others are not so reverential, let alone considerate. What is to say, then, about my worth?”

“You are cunning and witty.” Erik’s voice rang with a smile. “It makes you all the more precious. If your husband is so blind as not to see you are an indispensable asset, then your father must. Now I see our fortune in capturing you. You are indeed a priceless leverage and any king would do well to make you their counselor. It is a wonder you must be Saxon. Christian women aren’t usually as shrewd and fierce. Had you been a Dane or a Norse, I would have claimed you are Freya incarnate.”

“You flatter me.” she said, drawing him to set himself on her bed. “I am cold. Take me into your arms.”

He gave a faint smile, hardly visible in the dark. “My fists still bear the blood of your husband. I wouldn’t dare to soil you with this turd’s shit.”

Aethelflaed hid a smile, laughing silently. Suit him well, she thought, to abuse women. Her pride was avenged and if she could, she would have taken Erik’s place. “Wash your hands, then. I will not abide by your sleeping on the ground like an animal. Your words hold too much poetry for you to lower yourself to that.”

“I am a scald enough to sing beauty where there is one.” he said, pleased with himself as he complied to her orders.

“Twice.”

Erik frowned. “What are you counting, lady?”

“Your flatteries and the compensation.” she said. “Is that not the way it is with you Danes?”

“Is that what Uthred has taught you?” he was a bit jealous of the man but respect beat it with all the might of a shieldwall. Uthred was important enough for his name to be spoken with acknowledgment. None in England - rather, Saxland - ignored his feats and swordsmanship.

Aethelflaed nodded. “I have heard about weregild and laws of hospitality. You see, I have studied them with Uthred as a teacher. I am quite fond of the tings, I must say.”

Erik gave a soft gasp. “You are a queen, lady.” he sat by her side and cupped her chin as to delve and drown in her blue eyes. He brushed her cheek and placed a kiss on her forehead. “A queen in a country lorded by blind men. Let us hope that your father has at least one eye open. Wisdom from Odin would do him well.”

“Under the yoke of your gods, no good can befall him.” she grew cold and aloof. “I suppose that is why he must cast you Danes out of Wessex and East-Anglia. Why did you all came here? Why not go back?”

“Would you wish me to go?” he sounded hurt and vexed and if one listened closely, one would hear his sobbing. He took her hand in his and kissed her warm, soft palm; a princess’s hand, fair and pristine. “Lady, do you wish me away?”

She shook her head.” No.” she breathed. She brushed his beard, smiling. “I wish to understand. That is all.”

Erik sighed, his shoulders brought down by the weight of the world, his world. “Too many kings burning. To many kings rising. Too many kings battling. Too many kings fleeing. Too many kings. It feels like wealth has turned piss and mud and there is none anymore, not even for jarls. Here, there is wealth. There is land and they say anyone can be a lord or a king, why not try our chance there?”

“A king does not slaughter those he lords.” Aethelflaed said. “Besides, if so many kings died, why not try your fate there?”

Erik laughed as he slipped under her bedsheet. “You misunderstand me. Many king dies for others to rise. There is talk of a king in Norway that shall unite the whole of it. Word has it that he has already set it in motion, burned some petty kings in their halls, taken their lands, given them to his allies while other kings prefer to sail to Iceland to avoid war. Not that our Dane king Hardaknut is any better. Three high kings rise, crushing others in an iron gauntlet.” he gave her a look, smiled as he noticed how close her mouth was to his. “High kings, just like your father.”

Aethelflaed set her jaw. “My father does not-”

“He does. Ask your husband. Ask kinglets around and they’ll tell you the same.” Erik groaned as he let go of the spell of her moon-like face. “The old days of legendary kings, of raids, of Ragnar Lothbrokar seems so far away now. The kings of old are dead, the sons of the boar vanished, the barrows of our ancestors stand low, halls burned for town to grow. Everything changed. New lands sprang out of the ocean’s mist, new deeds are begging for songs while we are sailing to warm lands south. The world is bigger than ever and not to be lost we choose to come here and settle where we know what we did took roots. Our ancestors roamed those slopes, those plains and forests. When lost at sea, cling to a rock; that rock is your anchor. It is everything; your world.”

Aethelflaed gulped and nodded. “I wish I had been there to see you punch my husband into the mud.”

Erik laughed. “He whined. He looked like a fancy boy whose father would have slapped. Your father chose his ally well, lady, but I think it a poor choice of a husband. He reeks weakness.” there was mockery in his voice, protectiveness of the most uncontrolled, wild way. It pleased her as much as it frightened her.

“Women have no say in the matter. I did what I did for my father and for Wessex. I am a princess. I must abide by it, no matter the insults, the slaps, the pain; no matter the cost.” mechanically she rose her head high. “I will not let it unpunished, though, and if I must, I will do what I need to keep my pride. I am the daughter of a king and I will not be treated like a whore.”

Erik set his jaw, gritty. “Good.”

She nestled in his arms, coiled hers around him, relishing his warmth in the cold of the night. His chin rested on the top of her head and she smiled, hearing his heart so close, feeling his breath, so fresh, smelling the satisfaction on his lips; satisfaction that she had smitten her the way she had him. Had he had less respect for her, he would have taken her here, now and be done with it, but there was something about her he couldn’t name; she was a treasure, a most prized hostage and had been raised to many as almost divine unseizable as she was. She was a gilded statue standing amidst a throng of barbarians who would recoil from fear of her and her might.

Erik almost wanted to sing her that song; a lullaby most sweet for the infatuation to meet. He gulped, afraid to break the silence reigning in the room. She was close, so close to him, but it felt as normal as if they had been man and wife. In other time, if she was someone else, he would have wed her and they would have had sons and daughters, but she was married and he owned his brother his life and more. He could not betray Sigfried. At least he hoped he would come to understanding and acceptance.

“Had you any choice, who would you be?” he croaked.

She stirred in his arms and shifted as to see his face. “I would be me.”

“You would be chained.”

“I have been my whole life and now it seems I have taken a liking in those. My mother taught me well.”

He chuckled. “If she knew what you were doing, what would she say?”

“She is not here. Here is you and here is me. That is all I need to know.” she rested her head on his chest again. “If you could be anyone, who would you be?”

“I would be me.” he shifted as to see her. “I would wage war and conquer. I would make a kingdom for myself and my brother and I would take you and make you my queen.”

“What of my husband?”

“You would ask for annulment. He has not given you sons or daughters to bear. Isn’t it that way with you Christians?”

She smiled. “It is. But my father cares too much about this alliance with Mercia to let me annul this.”

“Then I will be your man. I will follow you everywhere and swear my oaths to you and you only, and when the time is right, I shall rise a lord.”

“What of your brother?”

Erik gave a pained smile. “I shall conquer for him and when we are done, I will bid him farewell.”

“I am sorry.” she breathed.

“Don’t be.” he kissed her hands again. “A parting in peace is better than a lifetime of quarrels and battles. Brothers should never fight each other.”

“Sons of kings do.”

“Then power corrupts the best of bonds. It is that way with kings; they sever everything they can, turn brothers against brothers. There is something about crowns that do not meet family. Is your brother really your brother if he seeks you dead? Is your mother truly your mother is she prepares you to be obedient? Is your father really your father if he marries you off to some wife-beater, as fair as his white royal arse is?”

Aethelflaed stiffened. “Please, don’t.” she shook her head. “I need not hear that. I know my duty. I am loyal to my family.”

“That is what you say, and they know it.” he sighed. “I am satisfied, though, that I got to see your husband’s fearful face. A pretty boy, your husband; a boy still.”

She laughed. He loved her laugh.

She moved as to face him and was welcomed by his satisfaction to see her so close. She could not make out his eyes, not his fair rough features in the dark but still, he bore that usual calm, as though everything was planned all alone. He did not recoil, he did not blushed, he did not set his jaw; he was calm as summer, letting only a soft gasp or a quiet sigh when awed by her. It was all Aethelflaed needed; someone calm, someone whose silent was eloquent, someone who kept his wild strength, his bloodlust at bay until battle or necessity arose. Real power wasn’t boisterously boasting, it wasn’t noise, but that silence; a silence that told of confidence. Had he been king, Aethelflaed would have married him.

But she had no choice in the matter. “Should I be something more, I wish I would be strong enough to wield a sword.”

Erik gave a groan of agreement. “It suits you, lady.” his lips spreaded into a faint smile. “The stool and night bucket were but play-swords.”

“Could you teach me?” she asked.

“If I can read, you can fight.”

She smiled, thinking of him learning the craft of monks with a much reverential care when it came to words. Erik was a fast learner. She wished she would learn half as much as he did.

“Remember never to turn your back on a foe, defeated or not. Remember to be wary of any threats and remember to keep your ground. With any luck, when this is all over, I shall come to you and give you a Frankish sword.”

“That advice is good enough.” her smile grew softer. “It fits queenship.”

“Your husband is a poor king, indeed.” his voice was cold, as always when Aethelred was brought up. “He does little but plot and scheme. I have never seen him leading his army through us. He is a man-lender and that is all. It does him well having you as his queen. You seem to be the strong one. With your wit and your fierce spirit, you could conquer kingdoms ruled by gods.”

“Again, you flatter me. Are you singing to lure me into your arms, when I already am?” Aethelflaed giggled. “He is no king and I no queen. He is a lord, abiding by my father, and I am but a lady.”

“A lady with a moon-like beauty.” he added. “After this, when I will be lonely and crave for you, a glimpse at the moon will help me remember you by.”

“Crave for me? What if I long for you?”

“Then call, and I shall ride to you, lady.”

“Erik.” she whispered. He hummed a ‘what’. “Call me by my name, please. Just this once, just here. Call me.”

“You are a princess. I can’t.”

“Then I order you to.”

Erik gave a smile, pleased with himself. He felt her tense, yearning for his answer and left her hanging for a calculated time. He could feel her breath, her heart, her breasts. He had never desired her with such eagerness.

“Aethelflaed.” he said, her name a weird pleasing spell with his foreign accent.

“Say it again.” her mouth whispered, grazing his.

He cupped her face, brushing her lips, groaning a low moan at how soft they were. His touches were light, so light it looked like a feather was caressing her. How odd for a man with such calloused blood-soaked hands.

“Aethelflaed.” his voice went deeper.

“Again.” her lips grazed his.

He could almost feel her warmth. He pulled his mouth closer, closing the gap between them, feeling her flutter and startle as his lips brushed hers. “Aethelflaed.” a whisper, barely a thought.

“Again.” she was panting, gripping his hair, knuckles white as the whole of her body seemed to have been set aflame.

Erik groaned as she drew him closer, holding tight on his hair like she was some kind of wildling; a wildling with the face of the moon. “Aethelflaed.”

She kissed him harder, with all the hurry of an army and Erik drew her closer, roaming her lips with his tongue, with his fingers, feeling her kiss the whole of his hands until he was hard enough it made him sore. “Aethelflaed.” he groaned again, removing her skirt as she hastily removed his breeches.

“Erik!” she moaned.

“Say it again.” he growled in her ear.

“Erik!” she cried.

With a quick move, he was over her, quickly removing his shirt as to see her dazzled face as she saw his bare chest covered with markings and scars. Her hand traced the lines of his former battle in awe that he survived them all. Erik was strong, she knew it. Erik would survive anything.

He gave a quick glance at her dress, asking with his eye a question only she knew the answer. She nodded. He removed her dress, recoiling at her nakedness. She was a hostage and a princess, he suddenly remembered, and grew cold. She was to be worshipped, not humped like some common whore.

“Lady..” he was out of breath.

She went up to him, taking his chin in her hand, reaching for a kiss. “The first compensation.” she kissed him again. “The second.” and again. “The third. All your praises have been met.” she smiled. “Now kiss me, love me. That is compensation enough for my nakedness.”

Erik grinned. “I will love you lady.”

“Call my name.” she set her lips between his, hoping to entrance him again, relieved to notice he was hard for her.

Erik moaned. “Aethelflaed.” a whisper, a moan, a spell for desire.

“Erik.” a whisper, a cry of ecstasy.

She trailed kisses on his lips, on his neck, on his eyes, he roamed her waist, her hips, her legs with his hands, claiming her throat with his lips as her breasts pressed against his chest. Erik was sore already, but she wasn’t wet yet. He laid her gently on her back, kissing her, pressing her tits, hering her gasp and breath for air as low groans of pleasure seemed to burst from her chest. He circled her clit with two fingers while the others were busy easing the path of his cock inside her.

She cried as he slid his fingers, but he tried as much as he could to make it good for her, kissing her again, on her throat, on her eyes, on her lips, on her ears, until she relaxed and gave but low moans of delight, responding to his own groans of pleasure. He bit her hard nipples as she gripped his hair, clinging to him, begging him to continue, so far from release.

“Erik.” her voice a plea. “Please.” her eyes glimmered with brewing tears, as her back arched, her groin reaching his. Her whole body waved, increasing Erik’s volume.

He grabbed her arse, drew her to him, straddling her as his hands grasped her waist seemingly about to break it, holding tight on it as though his life depended on it. He stopped for a second and she fluttered to him, biting her lips, crying out of a sore cunt.

Erik gave her a pleading look, showing a weakness he had never shown to any women. She was the first he fucked face to face.

“I love you, lady.”

She rose her groin closer. “Call me by my name.” she bit her thumb sultrily. “Call me.”

Erik gave a sharp breath, sliding inside her with a low moan of pleasure. “Aethelflaed.” he cried as he saw her breasts bounce. “Aethelflaed.” he said again, thrusting, relishing her moans and gasps of ecstasy. “Aethelflaed.” harder. “Aethelflaed.” louder. “Aethelflaed!” on the verge of coming.

Her breasts bounced with every moves of his. She moaned and gasped and arched her back, nipples hard, lips red, face magnified by the pleasure of his body, scratching, gripping in sheer pleasure as she was rewarded with his crying her name, coming and devotion to the tone of his voice. She pulled herself to him, clinging on his neck, relishing his soft eyes before she jerked her head back screaming her name at the same time he came.

The rythme grew slow. They fell back on the bed, Erik, covered in new scars and sweat that would be hard to explain, Aethelflaed, whining and smiling.

“By Freya, lady, you love like you fight!”

“Did I hurt you?” a hint of pride filled her voice.

“Never.” he panted. “There is no hurting me. There is no killing me so long as I am with you.”

“Then stay with me.” she said.

Erik closed his eyes. “You love like you wage war.” his voice grew sleepy. “Moon goddess… so fair a sight, you crying out for me. I hope Sigfried will not be mad.”

“I know he won’t. Even so I’ll negotiate with him and if he does not want to, I will fight him. I will levy men and you will be with me always.” she touched her womb. “You were gentle, Erik, gentler than the best of Christian men. You are fairer than the sun itself.” she nestled around him. “Love is gentle and kind. I want you to be that love.” she waited for an answer by was only given a calm soft breath, brewing to a snore.

She chuckled, and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. His hair was gold as summer wheat. She kissed his sea-eyes, his forehead, almost feeling him smile. Her hand roamed his features, carving them in her mind never to forgot who he was, how fair he was, how gentle he was. Even if their path separated one day, she would always bear him close, though she wished to live as long as he did, to savor his presence some more.

She coiled herself around him, savoring the quiet of the night, his moon-lit beauty, thanking him for the freedom he had given her as a hostage, following the lines of his scars, hoping never to find any more, praying to God to spare him in battle so that she would see him smile some more.

“How good must it be, Erik, to sleep a lifetime in your arms.” a whisper, a prayer.

**Author's Note:**

> In which I partook in @Ceridwenofwales's Let's be Danes prompt challenge and wrote some Aethelrik because I miss them too much! I hope y'all will like it!


End file.
